


Christmas 1928

by eyeslikerain



Category: Maurice (1987), Maurice - E. M. Forster
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, Old Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21870118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeslikerain/pseuds/eyeslikerain
Summary: "Scudder & Hall, supplier of finest leather." Maurice searched in his wallet for a business card.
Relationships: Clive Durham/Maurice Hall, Maurice Hall/Alec Scudder
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51





	Christmas 1928

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Julie_Anne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julie_Anne/gifts), [billspilledquill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/billspilledquill/gifts).



> Some christmas fluff for my lovely co-members on TeamClive! Thank you, Julie_Anne, for your wonderful advent calendar, populated with about every character ever mentioned in "Maurice" (except the Dean, but maybe you're still cross with him because of his remark about the unspeakable vices). And all the Shelley is for billspilledquill (go and read their 18th RPF!!), with a grateful heart for your delightful Maurice-fic.

One week before christmas, Maurice hurried down St. James‘s Street. The usual freezing northern wind chased flurries of snowflakes around him, fine, dry little snowflakes. If it hadn‘t been so bitingly cold, the sight might have been lovely and picturesque: shop fronts decorated with garlands of fragrant green, red-ribboned wreaths in windows and on doors, children in scarves and mufflers dancing and laughing while trying to catch some of the short-lived ice crystals in the air. Being a rare guest in this climate, however, Maurice shuddered and clasped his coat at his throat. Argentina definitely was warmer and more clement, even if going up in the mountains, as Alec and he had done last summer. The icy wind was one of England‘s charms he didn‘t miss at all.

Maurice shook his coat quickly and took off his gloves when reaching the welcome door of John Lobb. He was eager to get inside, into the warmth, and almost collided with a tall, slender gentleman in a black Chesterfield, head ducked down already to ward off the wind.

„Forgive me“, the gentleman mumbled while Maurice offered a ready „Not at all, my fault, sorry“. Their hands touched on the door knob, and when their eyes met perfunctorily, both froze. An incredulous smile flashed over their faces when they cried almost simultaneously: „Maurice!“ „Clive, old boy!“ They stopped, laughed, patted each other‘s arms and looked at each other, still disbelieving and as if trying to chase a dream. When an other client tried to open the door from inside, they realized they blocked the way and moved to the side, Maurice with his hands still on Clive‘s arm. His eyes were still the same, lovely and mesmerizing as fifteen years before. But he looked stooped and haggard, even with his heavy coat on. Changed, somehow. Definitely aged. Even if his eyes sparkled right now, there were unknown lines around them, accompanied by slight shadows under them Maurice only connected with exciting nights and too little sleep in their old days. They seemed to have become a permanent feature now. Maurice was flooded by love and sympathy. Clive, the perfect, ageless Greek god of his student days, had turned into a man approaching middle-age. Still smiling at him, Maurice said:

"How uncanny that we meet here. We, of all people."

"Are you here for the holiday?"

Maurice nodded: "Business also."

„I say“, Clive hugged his arms around him, „it‘s freezing out here. Why don‘t we step inside for a moment?“

Maurice nodded, got the door for him and held it open for his old friend. Once inside the sumptuous, welcoming space, a clerk approached them and said unperturbed:

„Glad to see you back so soon, Mr. Durham. Good morning, gentlemen. How can I help you?“, with a look to Maurice.

"Uhm, I've got an appointment with Mr. Lobb junior. I'm early, though. Hall's the name."

"Very well, sir, I'll tell him you're here."

"Having some shoes made?", Clive asked.

"No. As you might know, once you got them, you're good to go for the next fifteen years. No need of new shoes."

Clive raised an asking eyebrow. Maurice hurried to say:

"Oh, my appointment, you mean? We supply the leather. Have been doing so for years."

"We?"

"Scudder & Hall, supplier of finest leather." Maurice searched in his wallet for a business card. Clive looked at it with a wrinkled nose as if the card emanated an unpleasant smell.

"Scudder & Hall? Are you serious?", he asked incredulously. "You mean - Scudder? My Scudder?"

„He was no bondsman, as far as I know“, Maurice mumbled with a slight air of anger. „He has always been his own person.“ Maurice looked straight into blue, very blue eyes.

„Yes, indeed he was. So much so that he just disappeared one night. As did you.“ Clive looked at him hurt. Maurice shrugged and tried to restore the former harmony:

"It's long ago, Clive." Clive nodded and whispered: "Of course. Forgive me." He looked at Maurice vexed:

"I never heard from you. It hurt. I - " he looked around carefully and lowered his voice - "I missed you."

Maurice directed Clive gently towards an undisturbed corner, didn't take his hand off his arm and said:

"I missed you too. Of course. How could I not."

The glance they exchanged was intense and loving. Sad, too, from Clive's side.

"We heard about Scudder, of course. I always assumed you were with him after your mysterious departure."

"I was. Sorry I never write to you. And would you call him Alec, please. "

"Alec?" Clive seemed annoyed again.

Maurice shrugged and mumbled: "Forget it. You'll probably never meet, so..."

"Sorry, friend. Of course I'll call him Alec. Should we ever meet. Where is he, by the way?"

"In Osmington. Went down by train to see his family. Mother and I'll drive down on christmas eve to celebrate, and then we'll all come back to Alfriston Gardens for Christmas Day."

"Your mother knows?"

"Of course. I mean - we've been living together for fifteen years. Working together, too."

"What is it exactly you do?"

„That‘s a long story. To sum it up in three words: Alec is the clever one of us two, and he saw the potential of trade right away. Didn‘t fancy dried goods or anything perishable, went straight to the leather business. Found the sources for the best and finest leather available, made some visits in person in London, and - all was set. We supply Church‘s, Loake, Crocket and Sons… We probably provided the material for your shoes also. When did you buy those?“

"Eight, nine years ago. But I just ordered boots."

"Chances you get our leather are high then."

„Really?“ Clive couldn‘t hide a broad smile. „That‘s – fabulous. Grotesque, but fabulous!“ He beamed suddenly, all anger and disturbance swept away by the sudden joy to see his old love again. „I‘ll like my new shoes even more if you‘re involved in them.“

"And you? How is Anne?"

"Oh, she's fine, she's fine", Clive said distractedly. "She's out in Pendersleigh, you know. I still have my apartment here, in Kensigton."

"Your old place?"

Clive nodded: "Our old place." They looked at each other. Clive's eyelids fluttered while he tried to hold Maurice's gaze. When Clive saw the clerk approaching them, he said:

"Listen, why don't you come to dinner today. Just you and me. Like in the old times."

"I'd love to. Are you sure?"

"What can you mean, are you sure? I asked you for dinner, that's all!"

Maurice smirked.

"Come early. We've a lot of catching - up to do", Clive said while extending his hand to Maurice. "Around five?"

"I'll be there", Mautice nodded and shook his hand.

*

Clive looked contendedly around the room: the fire his housekeeper had built blazed. In a corner of the room, the round table was decked with all the delicacies Clive could find on his way home. Walking through snow-covered streets, pristine and clean as at no other time of the year, his mood lifted. Was it the snow and it‘s sense of new beginnings, covering all the former imperfections? Or having seen Maurice again? His smile, his luminous eyes? He looked so well. Full of life and energy with his tanned skin. Young also. Clive went into the hallway, put a lamp in front of the mirror and scrutinised his face. He looked old. Old and tired, as usual. His skin was grey and started to sag. His hair – he raked his fingers through it – looked tired also. Even his eyes seemed to have lost their colour. What a sorry sight he was. Maurice certainly was used to better now. Attractive, sun-kissed South Americans. Scudder probably looked even better than back then. A bit of colour in the face would suit him perfectly with his dark eyes. Clive sighed. Maurice would never find him attractive. He drew a grimace towards his mirrored image, carried the lamp back onto the table where it belonged and decided: he was no sight for a virile, beautiful god like Maurice, but at least he would feed him well. He had bought every delicacy that caught his eye, going a bit overboard admittedly, but Maurice should have the perfect English christmas feast. The table didn‘t even hold all the extravagances he‘d indulged in and he had to arrange some plates on the low sideboard next to it. Candles. They‘d need some candles. While Clive lighted them and put them on the sideboard also, he quickly stepped to the window and held the curtain to the side: it was still snowing, thousands of tumbling and swirling little flakes. The sky turned a lovely darker blue. Twilight hour. Often, this had been the most difficult hour of the day for him when realizing that another day of his wasted life had come to a close. And nothing had happened. Again. That was one of the reasons why he still clung to his London apartment: he could just close the curtains here and forget about day merging into night. In Pendersleigh, he was much more exposed to nature and all it‘s attacks on his sensitive soul. It was impossible to evade the different colours and moods of the sky. The shadows in the garden were far too long and alluring. Sometimes, he couldn‘t help but follow their siren song. Disappear into the dim, mysterious woods at twilight, allegedly to enjoy a lonely smoke. In truth he couldn‘t resist the lure of the dark, shimmering pond. Or the dark goblin house. It would be easy to make it look like an accident: a misstep near the deeper side of the pond. A mishap while cleaning his revolver in the goblin house. Well, not very convincing this one, but… Easier than wrecking the car on some tree. Anne would need the car.

Twilight in London was easier. Especially with the prospect of Maurice coming soon. Maurice would never ponder ending his own life, now would he? Not back in their Cambridge days, not now. He had looked so happy and glowing. Enjoying his success, enjoying being back with his family. With Scudder at his side. Clive flinched. He was jealous. No need denying it. He was jealous Maurice simply had opted for the life he had thought impossible for the likes of them. He just went for it. Typically Maurice. No wonder he looked fulfilled and healthy. Just following his needs, giving in to temptations… But discipline didn‘t look good on anyone. Clive had waited for the glow from within long enough to know that, but to no avail. Well. No use commiserating himself. Maurice just was the braver one. He deserved to be happy now, considering all the risks he had taken. And there he was!

„Everything looks exactly like back then!“, Maurice remarked after having handed Clive a prettily wrapped parcel from Fortnum and Mason and a bag of oranges – dessert, he had explained.

"Well, this is England. What did you expect? Though - look here", Clive ushered Maurice towards the living room. "I moved the piano."

"Did you?", Maurice exclaimed in disbelief. Clive punched his arm teasingly as they had done in the old days. It was easy to slip back into their former comfortable behaviour. As if no time had passed.

"And the rest? Everything still the same?"

Clive looked around:

"Well, yes, basically."

"And my room? Is it still a guest room?"

Clive stared at Maurice and didn't answer at first. He seemed surprised and searched for a reply.

"It's, uhm, it's changed a bit. Just a bit."

"May I see it? For old times' sake?" Maurice was at the door in two steps and already had his hand on the doorknob when Clive stopped him.

"Actually, wait a minute." Clive looked at him with a frown on his forehead.

"Someone staying with you?", Maurice asked amusedly.

"No. Never." Clive seemed grave and serious. "It's just - this is my bedroom now. I decided to sleep in here."

"Oh."

"Yes. It's more convenient, you know. I'm closer to the, uhm, kitchen. Which is a very convenient thing..." Clive seemed flustered. 

"...when sleeping. I understand." Maurice completed his sentence and looked at him thoroughly. "Sorry to intrude...", he said and turned away from the door.

„No, no, come here. Have a look. For old times‘ sake.“, Clive quoted him and opened the door. He switched on a dim overhead light. The room hadn‘t changed at all, as Maurice noted on his first glance. The bed stood in the same place as did the mirrored cupboard. The wallpaper, the curtains – everything was so familiar. Maurice took a few tentative steps into the room and said softly:

"Our room. I never thought I'd see it again."

Clive nodded: "I never dreamt of having you in here again."

They looked at each other silently. Maurice let a hand run over a stack of books on the night table - Keats and a well-known slim copy of Shelley - and said gently: 

"We were happy in here. Weren't we?"

Clive nodded, swallowing hard. Maurice turned to him and searched for his eyes. Clive held his gaze and mumbled:

"Sometimes - sometimes I think of you. Of us in here. We had a wonderful time together, didn't we?"

„That‘s the reason for your move? I mean, your old bedroom was much larger. And closer to the bathroom, which some people consider a helpful thing at night. Well, some prefer the kitchen, I know...“ Maurice hit Clive playfully, turned as if to leave but swung back and put his arms around Clive in a smooth movement. Clive gasped and tried to push him away weakly. Maurice held him at an arm‘s length but didn‘t let go:

"I remember everything."

A quick blush spread over Clive's face, visibly even in the soft yellowish light. His body lost it's former rigour and melted into Maurice's arms. Still looking at him, he whispered:

"So do I."

Maurice stroked his cheek, gently. Clive shut his eyes at the unaccustomed caress. When had someone touched him like that for the last time? He couldn‘t remember. He leaned into Maurice‘s hand for a second before drawing away:

"Come on, I'm starved. Aren't you hungry?"

Maurice let his eyes wander over the room again, a last farewell, and stroked Clive's elbow while leaving their former bedroom:

"Thanks. Dearest."

Clive's eyebrows shot upwards:

"I thought that's someone else now?"

Maurice smiled and said: " It'll always be you. Silly you." He leaned in and kissed Clive's cheek softly before turning into the living room. Clive followed him, mesmerized and speechless.

*

Maurice took in the cozy, softly lit living room. Everything spoke of the past: the well-loved, familiar furniture, the small green velvet couch in front of the fireplace they had used to lounge on together, the faces of Clive‘s predecessors on the wall. He went over to the piano, noticed the copy of „Eugene Onegin“, opened to Lensky‘s aria just before the duel, and looked at Clive:

"Still into Tchaikovsky?"

Clive nodded, came over and closed the music: "Somethings stay, you know."

"You seem so sombre. Maybe you'd rather need some tangoes?"

"What's that?"

"A dance. Sad enough for you, I'd say, but lifting your mood a bit more than your Russian composer."

"I'm fine as it is, thanks. Let me just get the tea."

The elaborate, lovingly chosen feast was a true, festive christmas meal already. Maurice enjoyed the delicacies Clive had selected with a vigour and glee that delighted Clive. Clive had never been a good eater, but he had always loved watching Maurice enjoy the bounty on his plate. When Maurice felt his gaze upon him, he lifted his eyes askingly:

"It's just a joy to see you eat. Still so - vigorous, and down to the matter."

"Yes, whyever shouldn't I? This is delicious, Clive, by the way. Thanks for preparing this."

"My pleasure."

„And down to the matter – you know, that‘s what we needed. In Argentina. To build our business. Though I have to say Alec is much better at it than me. You should see him! He‘s often eating while standing up in his office and giving directions. And eats even faster than me. He‘s so full of energy and ideas. I couldn‘t have done all that without him.“ Maurice wiped his mouth on his napkin, took a sip of wine and continued:

„You know, I often thought how unprepared for life you and I were, even after Cambridge. Alec never heard a word a Greek, but he has so much common sense, such an understanding of how things connect, what needs to be done first, that he thrived wonderfully. Not to forget his ability to charm potential customers. Talking about tangoes: Alec knows all the tango bars in Buenos Aires and got us more than one order by taking clients out. You should see him dance...“ Maurice added dreamily. Clive frowned. „Not with our clients, of course! Don‘t look so shocked! Alec likes women. Always did. Well.“

"But you live together?"

Maurice nodded and helped himself to some more cheese:

"I mean, as a couple?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Is ist - accepted?"

Maurice shrugged: "Guess so. We don't care if people talk. Besides, Alec is such a charmer - everyone just loves him. And understands why I cannot live without him."

Clive worried his lips and looked sideways into the fire.

„And there‘s the class thing, you know. We have a large house – about the size of Pendersleigh - , lots of staff, offer jobs to many in our factories and our home. We are respected because we have money. Same rules apply to the Argentine as to Europe. So – we enjoy a certain carnival license. Even if we don‘t exploit it, don‘t get me wrong.“

"And how about when you're invited to a formal affair? Do you go together?"

"Of course. Alec loves going out. And he's a miracle at findi g new business connections, you know."

"No, I meant - you get invited as a couple? People know?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I think this wouldn't happen here." Clive raised his shoulders and let them sink again with an exhale.

"Enough about me. Tell me about your life. How is Anne? Do you get invited together?", Maurice joked.

„We do, we do, but, you know, I still abhor festivities and dinners. Anne loves them. I force myself to go a few times for her sake. But often, our lives are quite divided, thankfully. She got used to going out alone. She‘s quite a strong and independent woman, you know.“

"But - isn't it sad? To spend merry times apart?"

Clive looked at him gravely: "We don't have lots of merry times in our lives."

"How so? You have everything you ever dreamed of? Chose the life you thought best for you?"

Another long, serious glance. Clive's eyes were in the shadows of the flames and seemed darker than ever.

"Turns out - what is best for me and what society thinks is best for me a two very different things."

Maurice nodded. After some silent seconds, he asked:

"Do you regret anything?"

They looked at each other. Pictures of Clives beautiful naked body in his arms, the softness of his skin, his warm, insatiable lips on his own flashed through Maurice‘s mind. Right here, in this room. Right here, they had enjoyed endless pleasure and sensual delight. And in the bedroom… A sudden tension hung between them. Clive shook his head sadly and said softly:

„I have to live with the consequences of my choice. I just regret having dragged Anne into this. She loves Pendersleigh all right and has made some friends in the county. Her parents live close to Pendersleigh. She loves her garden. But -“ Clive sighed and played with his wedding ring. „She had hoped for more. You know.“

"I know?", Maurice prompted.

"Children", Clive added softly. "I cannot give her any. Apparently."

"Oh", Maurice replied. "Sorry to hear that." He caught a glimpse of Clive's eyes: "But you tried, didn't you?"

"Maurice!"

Clive got up, straightened his waistcoat and started to pace the room. Maurice touched him on one leg when he walked past his chair and got hold of his hand:

"Apologies. That was insensitive. Of course you tried."

Clive held his hand for some seconds, squeezed it and sat down again:

"No, it's all right, you're asking the right questions. As opposed to all the doctors. Alec's directness rubbed off on you, and that's a good thing. Merry old England is still so uptight, you know."

Clive arranged himself in his seat and arranged one bony leg on top of the other before continueing:

„We didn‘t have much time before the war. Were both inexperienced, Anne was barely 18, you know… The war was – bad for me. I was in a bad shape afterwards. After I came back from hospital, that is.“

"Why were you in hospital?"

"Various things. None of them as lethal as I had hoped. Living on seemed the crueller fate."

"What happened to you?", Maurice asked concerned.

"Got buried in a collapsed trench. Got left for dead. I almost was. Spent a freezing night next to a dead fellow..."

Maurice flinched: "Clive. How awful. I don't know what to say."

Clive looked away:

"My body was badly messed up. But my mind was worse. I was in a sanatorium for almost two years. Couldn't stand the dark. Couldn't stand closed spaces, you know."

"I'm so sorry", Maurice leaned forward and offered his hands to Clive who just shook his head.

„Anne was at my side, all the time. She is remarkable, you know. So much better than I am. When I didn‘t get well even after getting home, I offered her to annul our marriage. We‘d spent not much time together since the wedding, actually. I was at the frontline until the end of 1917, and then two years shut away with other lunatics...“

"You are no lunatic!"

Clive shrugged:

"I'm worse. Still am. No husband material, that's for sure. So - I asked her if she wanted her freedom back. She said no."

Maurice was silent. The crackle of the fire was the only noise in the room. He looked at Clive gravely:

"You remember what we thought misery and hell in college? Real life seems so much worse."

Clive nodded: "Real life is worse."

They were silent again until Maurice said:

"Did you ever think about a change of scenes? For both of you? An extended holiday?"

Clive shook his head:

"We went to the coast a few times. But that's not really a change of scenes, is it?"

"I meant something really different. The South. The Mediterranean. Or even farther? Some sun and dry air might do you good."

A small smile played over Clive's lips:

„You remember when I went to Greece? I was happy there. Tormented also, because I had set this as my date to make up my mind about you. Or marriage. Guess I cannot escape myself, even if I travel to the other side of the world. But, still – I was happy there most of the time.“

"Speaking of - let me get those sunkisses I brought you."

Clive looked puzzled at Maurice who got up. He heard his voice from the hallway:

"The oranges. I'll peel one for you, like in college, right?"

Clive nodded and watched his friend spread his napkin over his lap. The first cuts into the large, round orange filled the room with fresh scents.

"So, what did you like in Greece? Tell me."

Clive sighed and looked at Maurice. "Seeing you in almost every statue there", he thought, but said: "The incredible, oppressing heat. Thedry air. Lizards. Olives. Sunken ruins. The blue,blue sky. The sea, so different than our's..."

Maurice smiled:

"You might like the Argentine then..."

"You've all that also?"

"No statues. Not many ruins. But a wonderfully clear air. In summer especially. Summer is winter there, you know."

Clive nodded: "Did you need long to get accustomed to the climate?"

„Well, winters, that is summers here, are really hot. You have no idea of heat until you experience that. But you go with it – everything slows down. Siestas are necessary. Life takes place outside in the evenings.“

Clive asked: "And how do you do business?"

„In the mornings and evenings. We have normal hours, but just at different times of the day. It works.“ He offered a slice of the fragrant orange to Clive, as they had done back then: slice by slice, from loving fingers right into the other one‘s hands, no plate needed. Biting into the next one himself, he said:

"Food is different also. You might like it."

"I liked it in Greece. All the fruit. Cheese. Different bread."

Maurice licked his fingers before offering the next slice of orange to Clive.

"But, despite everything, there were days... I had bad days there also. That' swhat I meant. My misery"ll probably follow me around the whole world."

"How so?" Maurice ate a piece of orange himself before dividing the remaining half of it. 

"I missed you terribly."

Maurice froze. After a long inhale, he said:

"You came back and told me we needed to change. Didn't feel a lot like missing me."

Clive stared at him silently. Finally, he continued:

"I missed you anyway. It hurt." Maurice shrugged, offered him another slice of orange and said: 

"You never answered my letters."

"I did. But I never sent them."

"What? Why?"

"I..." Clive looked at the dark window. "I wrote to you daily. You know, I wanted to make up my mind. The pendulum swung back and forth. You. Marriage. You... Writing helped."

"And why did I never see those letters?"

"I burned them. At the beach in Viareggio, on my way back."

"Why Viareggio?"

„I wanted to see where Shelley died. The poet?“, Clive added when Maurice frowned. „He drowned. His friends cut his heart out. His wife kept it for the next thirty years. Allegedly wrapped into one of his poems.“

"Clive, please! I'm eating!", Maurice complained.

"On the boat back from Greece, I felt I couldn't decide between a respectable life and you. I decided to end my life in Viareggio and ask someone to send my heart to you. Together with all my Greek letters."

"Clive!" Maurice looked up alarmed.

„But turns out: killing myself would‘ve been easy. But I didn‘t know whom to ask about the heart. A doctor would insist on me not killing myself. A butcher? A murderer? And I didn‘t speak enough Italian to make myself heard, even if I had found the right person.“ 

"Clive. You can't be serious."

"I am." Clive looked at Maurice. "I spent a miserable night at the beach, all alone. I felt alone as never before. But there was beauty in it, also. The stars. The waves. And when the sun rose with golden fingers, I just decided to go on. With my life."

Maurice exhaled loudly:

"You never told me."

"Personal misery isn't as interesting to others, isn't it?"

"It is, for me, because I'm you friend! I will always be! Clive, you silly thing..."

Maurice got up and pulled Clive upwards into a hard embrace. Clive toddled, steadied himself on Maurice and hugged him. „What would I have done with your heart? I‘m sure it would have smelled quite badly after having travelled all the way from Italy. Please don‘t do that to me“, he whispered into Clive‘s hair. „My mother would‘ve been appalled. Don‘t do that.“. His hands ran through Clive‘s hair. Maurice pulled his face away: „I wouldn‘t have minded the letters. But I want your heart here, here...“ his hand searched for Clive‘s chest. He slipped two fingers between the buttons of his waistcoat and felt around. „I want to feel it beating. Keeping you alive. Please. No nonsense. We are no romantic poets.“ Clive put his hand over Maurice‘s on his chest and looked at him:

"You'll always have a special place in my heart. Always."

"I suspected as much. No need to cut it out for me as a prove, all right?"

Maurice held Clive's hand in front of them, squeezed it and said:

"Come here, there's more oranges. And I'll tell you what you'll do." They sat down again and Maurice tackled the next orange:

„You indeed are messed up badly. Still are. I cannot leave you here on your own, in gloomy, foggy old England. I don‘t want any rotting hearts being sent to me to the Argentine. The ship takes three weeks. Just imagine...“ He offered Clive one more slice of orange. „I want all of you. No missing body parts, just the whole, undamaged Clive. Your heart where it belongs. You come with Anne and stay with us. As long as you want.“

Maurice popped a piece of orange into his own mouth before putting one between Clive‘s lips to silence the protests he knew were coming. The room smelled of sweet, citrussy perfumes while Maurice divided the last orange between them and told Clive of his vast property, the guesthouse they had built, calm mornings, their horses, the lures of downtown Buenos Aires at night. Everything seemed easier and more colourful. Clive felt a sudden urge to leave all restrictions, obligations and expectations behind him. He looked at Maurice, his face flickering golden in the fire light, adding concentratedly to the pile of orange peels on his plate, looking at him kindly whenever handing him some orange. When had someone looked at him like that the last time, Clive wondered? When Maurice leaned in to hand him the last slice of the fruit, he reached for his slender, sticky fingers, touched them briefly and said:

"I need to talk with Anne first. I have a notion she might like this. If she does, I'll look into job options."

"I'm sure the British Empire needs people like you in an important outpost."

Clive, gathering all his courage, leaned in and kissed the hand that had caressed him so often.

"Won't we be in a muddle? We two, I mean?"

"No. Some things never change. I mean - you're still married, and I'll be forever with Alec. But why shouldn't we see each other? Like old friends do?"

He turned Clive's hand in his, raised it to his lips and kissed it gently.

"Let me just wash my hands before leaving. Orange juice all over."

Clive accompanied Maurice to the door. When he extended his hand to say good-bye, Maurice didn't take it, but gently searched for his wrist and his cuff links.

„For old times‘ sake?“, he asked. Clive nodded and looked at Maurice‘s golden hair. Still a vision. Still so beautiful. He held his other hand out and Maurice removed the cuff links there also before dropping them with raised eyebrows in to Clive‘s hand.

"Let's meet next week with Alec and Anne, shall we?"

Clive nodded. Maurice stepped closer, wrapped his arms around him and kissed him on each cheek, innocently but lovingly.

When Clive looked out of the window, Stafford Terrace was a wintery fairytale. The pristine snow glittered in the light of some lamps. He heard the front door closing and soon Maurice appeared. His steps were the first ones on the clean white blanket. When he turned and looked up to Clive‘s window, he beamed, opened his arms wide and held his face up towards the falling snow before waving to Clive one last time. 

*

The new British ambassador and his wife arrived in Buenos Aires in June 1929. Breaking with tradition, the Durhams took residency in the home of a friend, a well-known and influential British businessman. They claimed that the air in the serene suburban area was more beneficial for the young wife whose condition was delicate. She was soon seen enjoying daily outings on horseback. Her strength grew considerably, as proved her frequent visits to Buenos Aires‘s tango bars with the good-looking business partner of her husband‘s friend.

Maurice and Clive preferred to stay home and enjoyed quiet evenings on the patio instead of accompanying the two. The moon may have seen them holding hands, quietly and contentedly, on the armrests of their creaky wicker chairs while listening to the gramophone and looking over the garden.

The moon may also have seen Alec's modern, shiny car taking the most suspicious backroads on their way home late at night. It was parked in lonely, hidden places longer than decency could explain. It's swerving and swinging was unmistakeable.

When Anne came back from a visit to her doctor in early summer of the next year – Alec had driven her as he had business to do in that part of town – she asked Clive for a talk behind closed doors. Meanwhile, Alec suggested a walk to Maurice as he had some things to talk about, starting with: „You always worried about an heir for our business. I think I might have a solution...“

During an improvised conference in Anne‘s room while she had breakfast in bed the next day, the four of them plotted their future: the child would call Clive „Daddy“. Clive would choose the name. Alec and Maurice were the uncles. Should the child turn out to lack Clive‘s height or blue eyes, which was very likely to be expected, Anne had a story ready about Grandpa Wilbraham who was of slight build and had her brown eyes and hair. When Clive demanded to know in mock desperation: „But what are we, the four of us?“, Anne ended the discussion with a simple and convincing: „We are blessed. That‘s what we are.“

Clive decided to give Pendersleigh to his sister Pippa. Even if the generous gift bore a certain resemblance to the Trojan Horse as it contained Mrs. Durham, Simcox and Reverend Borenius, Pippa was overjoyed to see her children growing up in the place she had always loved.

Clive resigned from the British administration and set up office as a solicitor in Buenos Aires.

On his fortieth birthday, he got a watch from Maurice with "Cor cordium" engraved in it's lid.

Little Alexander was followed by the twins Berenice and Cassiopeia. They attended the British School in Buenos Aires. But everything they learned about the things that matter in life, they learned from their uncle Alec.

**Author's Note:**

> "...a dream so like reality" (Percy Bysshe Shelley)


End file.
